


I Forget You Are Suffering

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's FebuWhump 2021 Oneshots [8]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Drunkenness, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, POV Peter Parker, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: FebuWhump 2021 Day 8: ["Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep!"]Peter visits Sister Margaret's so he can escort a drunken Wade home. It leads to a conversation with Al, Wade's roommate. And Peter discovers that there's more to his buddy than he knew.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Series: MissMoochy's FebuWhump 2021 Oneshots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136714
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	I Forget You Are Suffering

**Author's Note:**

> My 100th fic! :D

Peter was making some modifications to his web-shooters when he received a phone call. He was at home, and it was ten o’clock at night, and he didn’t recognise the phone number. His first thought was _Oh God, something’s happened to May._

He clicked _Accept._ “Hello?”

“Hey. This Peter Parker?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Don’t be an asshole. Look, you’re listed as Wade Wilson’s emergency contact—”

No. Wade.

Peter sprang up for his desk and began hunting for his sneakers. This was stupid, Wade couldn’t injured or sick, he was probably fine, there was no reason for him to freak out, but—

He seized one sneaker and thrust his foot in it.

“Is he okay? What happened?”

“Yeah, he’s fine, but he’s at my bar, he’s drunk out of his mind. Come and pick him up. I’ll text you the address.”

And then the guy hung up! He couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, because I’ve got nothing better to do than to be your chauffeur, Wade,” he muttered. Now that he knew it wasn’t an emergency, he could be a bit more sedate, perching on his bed so he could lace his shoes. “A Saturday night and I’ve got to go and babysit Deadpool!” It was his first night off in ages. Between work and patrol, he had such little time these days. He threw on a windbreaker, grabbed his keys and headed out. He’d walk there and maybe call a cab for the two of them. He didn’t have the money for taxis but he couldn’t very well carry Wade home. Well, physically, he could but it might look a bit weird. 

* * *

He’d heard of _Sister Margaret’s_ before. Wade spoke about it occasionally. Peter wondered if the whiny, snarky voice on the phone had been the bartender, Weasel, who happened to be Wade’s good friend.

He would have once been afraid to enter the bar. Even from the outside, he could tell it was a dump and the fact that illegal mercenaries patronised it didn’t exactly fill him with confidence. But he wasn’t just Peter Parker anymore. He was Spider-Man. And if it came down to a fight, he liked his chances.

Sister Margaret’s was...interesting. Loud and rowdy, boxed chaos. Nobody noticed him walk in. He’d been expecting a confrontation or at least a stinkeye, like when John Wayne would walk into a saloon in those old spaghetti western movies. But nobody saw him and he slipped in, heading for the bar.

Ah, that had to be the infamous Weasel. Ginger and bespectacled, he was wiping a glass with a rag, staring at the glass as if it had personally offended him.

Peter put his hands on the bar and Weasel glanced at him.

“Hi, I’m Peter Parker. I’m here for Wade?”

Weasel eyed him doubtfully. “Are you sure you’re gonna be able to get him home? What are you, like, ninety pounds ringing wet?”

“I’ll be fine. Where is he?”

“In the john. I would have driven him home myself but I have to watch the bar. And besides, I didn’t want to.”

“Got it. I’ll just wait here then.”

Peter hurriedly hopped up on a stool as something ran past his feet.

“Yeah, we got a minor roach problem,” Weasel said, not looking up from his glass.

“Felt too big to be a cockroach...”

“We also got a minor rat problem.”

“Uh...huh.”

He was relieved to see Wade appear from a door. “Wade! Over here, man!”

Wade wasn’t Deadpool today, he was in his street clothes so Peter took the rare opportunity to study his face. It wasn’t as bad as Wade claimed. It wasn't _pretty_ but...

The merc staggered over, windmilling his arms for balance. When he reached him, he wobbled and Peter threw out an arm.

“It’s you! Oh, what are ya doing here? This...this is so...such a nice surprise!”

“You told me to call him, dumbass,” Weasel said. “I asked you who could take you home and you gave me his number.”

Apparently, this was good enough for Wade because he threw his arms around Peter in a big bear hug. Peter patted his back, bemused. Wade normally wasn’t so demonstrative. Well, he certainly kept his distance when he was unmasked. Even though they’d shown each other their faces (and told each other their true names), Wade far preferred to keep his face hidden. Peter respected that. It must be hard, having a face that’s so...unforgettable.

“Mm, hey Petey, you smell nice,” Wade slurred, rubbing his face in Peter’s hair. Peter rolled his eyes.

“He’s your problem now!” Weasel said cheerfully. Peter ignored him in favour of helping Wade get past the maze of tables and chairs. Navigating them was a struggle, Wade was a huge line of muscle, he wasn’t heavy to Peter’s super-strength but moving him was like trying to shift a heavy table.

“Need to call you a taxi, buddy,” Peter muttered. One of the mercs was nice enough to hold the door open for them. Maybe these guys weren’t so bad.

Wade was starting to list to the side, his eyes falling shut. Peter shook him a bit.

“Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep. We got to get you home. Where’s your address?”

But all he got was an incoherent mumble.

* * *

He was able to unlock Wade’s phone with the use of his thumb. That was probably how Weasel had accessed the phone’s contacts and called Peter. He scrolled the lengthy list of contacts, thinking hard. Didn’t Wade have a roommate? What was her name? Alice? No, Al.

Al answered, and sighed when Peter explained the situation and then relayed their home address. It was so late and Peter wasn’t sure he fancied inflicting Wade on an unsuspecting Uber driver. But he didn’t have a choice, so they were soon in the back of some guy’s Prius, Wade snoring softly on Peter’s shoulder.

When they finally reached the destination, Peter was shocked to see it was kind of a dump. He knew his friend was extremely wealthy, but where that wealth was directed, who knew? The duplex wasn’t filthy but it was cluttered, with random pieces of furniture scattered on the ground. Peter fumbled in Wade’s jeans pockets until his fingers closed around a keychain.

He got the door open and then carried him inside, bridal style. He was strong but short, and the pair of them must have looked ridiculous right now. Shaking that thought out of his head, he got Wade inside and dumped him on the couch in the next room.

The room was dim, lit by a lone lamp. Peter spotted a switch on the wall but he made no move to turn it on. He laid Wade out on the couch, propped up his head with a cushion. Wade wriggled to get comfortable, sleepily nuzzling the pillow.

After unlacing the merc’s heavy boots and slipping them off his feet, he didn’t think there was anything left for him to do. Best let him sleep. It’s not like Wade had to worry about hangovers or getting a crick in his neck from sleeping curled up. Wade looked pleasingly untroubled as he slept. His brow was clear and unlined, his eyelids were fluttering in REM sleep. His lips were slack, slightly parted. _He’s got nice teeth,_ Peter thought. It was sad, really. He must have been handsome. Before.

It was so rare that he saw him without his mask. Wade hated having his skin on display and sometimes, it bugged Peter that Wade’s other friends saw him like this. Wade wasn’t hanging out with Weasel and Al with his Deadpool mask on. But he always did with Peter. Why? Peter had already seen his face. He hoped he hadn’t done anything to offend him.

“Who’s there?”

He jerked upright. She hadn’t triggered his spider-sense. He recognised the voice, and besides, there was only one person it could be.

Al was tiny, drowning in an enormous dressing gown and clutching a piece of plywood in a threatening manner.

“It’s Peter Parker. I brought Wade home.”

She relaxed, lowering her plank of plywood.

“Is that a — a shelf?”

She held it up. “Part of the _BURHULT_ line. IKEA.”

“Oh.” And then, because had no clue what to say to that, “Is it good? Is it serviceable?”

“It’s alright. Bit uninspired.”

“I see.”

She set the shelf down by the couch. “Son, would you like a nice cup of tea?”

* * *

Al was nice. She reminded him a little of May, the way she bustled around, feeling inside the cabinets for cutlery.

She set down a tin of cookies for him.

The kitchen was as messy as the rest of the house, but she seemed to know where everything was by touch alone. Blind Al, that’s what Wade called her.

“So, you known Wade for long?”

“Not that long. We...sort of met through work,” Peter said, hedging his bets. He wasn’t sure exactly how much she knew about Wade’s line of work, but he could say with certainty that she didn’t know she was making tea for Spider-Man. Wade would never tell anybody Peter’s true identity. Not even under threat of torture. The thought warmed him, and he smiled as he lifted his mug to his lips.

Al settled down across from him, with her own cup. “You don’t sound like those mercenary buddies of his. You sound polite. Is the money good, at least?”

Peter wrinkled his nose. Aside from taking photos for the _Bugle_ , Spider-Man hadn’t made him a pretty penny. He didn’t do it to make money. He did it to help people. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Shame. Wade’s got money, but you knew that, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what he does with it. He could be living in a mansion and having, um, skiing vacations and stuff.”

“Ah, but Wade wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t want to leave the city. And he doesn’t care about fun.”

That wasn’t correct. “He loves fun! He’s a total adrenaline junkie. He’s a walking party.”

Al shook her head. “He’s just trying to distract himself. Shut the voices up inside his head.”

He knew Wade heard voices. Somehow, it had never seemed serious. More like an inside joke that he had with himself. Just another Deadpool gimmick. “I knew he heard voices but I didn’t think they were…bad...”

“I think sometimes he’s glad of them. Even if they say bad things. Just happy to have a bit of company…”

Peter pushed the cookies away, suddenly feeling sick. Was Wade lonely? Was that why he insisted on following Spider-Man everywhere? Insisting that they were best friends, even when Peter told him otherwise?

He was swamped with these thoughts, guilt curling in his gut and he almost missed Al’s next words.

“Of course, he gave up when his girlfriend died…”

 _Oh, Wade._ “Girlfriend? He had a girlfriend?”

“Mm-hm. Vanessa. He loved her so much but he’s got a dangerous life. He’s like a magnet for trouble and she got caught up in it. She was murdered — he blamed himself. He’s convinced himself that he’s going to bring trouble to my door, too. He tried to send me away, for my safety! But I’m an old lady, I said no. I dug my heels in. Fool boy’s not sending me away, this is my home and I’ll die here.”

He got to his feet, threw his jacket back on. The room didn’t feel stable, it was like when you trip on loose carpeting, that lurch before you fall. “I have to go. Um, take care of him, will you?”

“Always do.” was the reply.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how he got home. He remembered walking out of the duplex and almost tripping in the dark on a broken chair leg. And the air was cold and clean and he took deep breaths. And the air chilled the tears on his cheeks. He resolutely plodded forward, feeling like he was leaving something important behind in that depressing apartment. And then he was suddenly at his desk.

Wade was sleeping right now, dreaming pleasant things, Peter hoped. Maybe he was dreaming of him? Spider-Man and Deadpool — embroiled together on yet another crazy adventure. He had no inclination to return to his earlier work, his alterations on the web-shooters. So, he sat there amidst his abandoned work and he thought of him. _Wade, why didn’t you tell me?_


End file.
